In the Union Square Hotel lobby before the AMA gala, Dr. D slipped a diamond ring on Beth's finger and asked her to play his wife.

"Sure," Beth said, nodding politely. There were far worse things that men had asked her to do than be a prop for the evening.

She planned to look back on this period of atrocities like a war vet: nothing she couldn't justify for a greater good. It was unimaginable to her that her mother could be kicked out on the street because of the high rents in the Den building. Marjorie had worked there as a young woman, and her father and grandfather before that.

As Andy had assured Beth earlier, the plastic surgeon, who insisted that she call him by his first name, Simon, was "pretty OK" - he just liked to talk on and on in monotone without interruption, but that was far better for Beth than having to talk about herself.

Doughy in appearance with a bad comb-over, Dr. D did not have the chiseled good looks she'd expected. "I'm an artist," he'd said on the way to the ballroom, and Beth respected that. It seemed that everyone wanted to be called an artist these days, including coders.

Once they were seated at the round table of 10, a resort-tanned wife attacked Beth with questions - "Are you going to have kids?" she asked. Everyone else was polite, or disinterested, or possibly suspected that Beth was Dr. D's blow-up doll.

"We're working on it," Beth said, and Dr. D patted her hand.

The bearded man on Beth's left touched her bare shoulder. "I only ask that you restrain yourself for another hour so I don't lose my dinner companion." Howling laughter, Beth smiling. Her date ate it up.

The waiter swept away Beth's beet salad before she could finish it. Her mind went to her Den customer, Roger, and his girls. He seemed in over his head - the girls wandering the streets, Jenny with the glassy blue eyes, giving her that starved stare. Beth had wanted to help, but she didn't see a way.

She couldn't blame Roger for not saying hello to her the other night after the way she'd behaved - starting with letting her mother serve him pie. She'd regretted all of it. Maybe her mother was right, and he'd been flirting with her. But it was her knee-jerk response not to believe her mother and do the opposite of what she wanted.

Beneath the table, Beth's feet were tangled in her long, off-white dress. It was a vintage cocktail dress that was going to be her mother's wedding gown - when she'd been engaged and thought she'd marry Beth's father. The dress had a modest sweetheart neckline and a lace overlay. Her mother had told Beth to throw it away.

Next to Beth, Dr. D was talking intensely to a female cardiologist, as the waiter kept refilling his red wine. Beth was hoping he'd be exhausted by the time dessert arrived, and that her duties for the evening would end with a peck on the cheek. Sure enough, at 9 o'clock, when the '70s band wandered out in their leisure suits, Dr. D stood up, a bit wobbly, and bid the other guests farewell.

Beth was relieved and left the table with him, arm in arm. When they got to the other side of the ballroom door, he turned to her, swaying from foot to foot. Was he going to pass out? She grabbed his arm and steadied him.

"Steffi," he said, with a nice smile. "I've got a nice room for us upstairs."

Above Beth, Dr. D's face seemed undefined without his rectangular glasses, the room lit only by the city below them.

Beth was doing math. OK, I need to do this one more year to buy enough computers, transistors and silicon carbide supplies, and perhaps pay off Mom's rent for a year.

Finally, it was over. He collapsed on her, blocking out all light. Beth felt like she was suffocating under his weight, but at least she could go home soon. She managed to turn her head to breathe and saw the clock radio. 10:08. Just three hours of work, and the Den was still afloat. And she was a lot closer to launching her lens project and leaving this profession for good.

Minutes later, Beth was milling around the pay machines of the Civic Center BART Station. She had barely said goodbye to the doctor, who had been fine - very decent, actually. But Beth needed that descent into the train station before coming back up the escalator to her other life. In her mind, this little ritual kept her two lives separated.

It was with great relief that she unlocked the back door of the Den, where she would change outfits before returning to the hacker hostel.

Her mother was standing next to the open refrigerator in her shorty bathrobe, snacking on cherry pie. In front of her was a jelly jar of "house wine," which they bought by the jug. "Someone left something for you," Marjorie said. "Hey, what are you wearing? I told you to throw that old rag away."

"It's a good party dress," Beth said, cracking a Diet Coke. "Who left something?"

"Since when do you go to parties?" her mother asked, pointing her fork at the freezer.

Beth opened the freezer door. What the -?

The walk-in was stuffed with at least 20 turkeys - obviously for her food drive to help the homeless. The turkeys were the nice, plump ones. Not even frozen. Who would do this?

"He might still be outside," her mother said.

Beth pushed through the swinging door. Outside, leaning against an old Jeep in a tuxedo, was Roger.

Saturday: An unexpected turn outside the hacker hostel.

Fictional serial Click City runs Wednesdays and Saturdays in Datebook.